by Ann Gimpel
She waved her hands in front of her. “None of that matters. Pull your head out of your ass and stop feeling sorry for yourself. We need your help. I’ve located a spell that should either complete or reverse the one interrupted ten years ago. If I’m right, the Cataclysm will implode, nature can begin to recover, and we won’t lose the possibility of life on Earth.”
“And if you’re wrong?” Raziel raised one blond brow.
“We’ll die, sucked into the Cataclysm’s vortex.” Ketha swallowed sudden desolation. “We’re all going to die, anyway. This merely hastens things.”
Raziel took a step toward her. Ketha held her ground and latched her gaze onto his. Viktor closed on them protectively, his eyes never leaving the other man.
“I know the spell,” Raziel said flatly. “You’ll never finish it. Raphael will storm your fortress and blow it to hell. Doesn’t matter he’s in a different body. That won’t slow him down at all. Something similar happened ten years ago. One of the Vampires found out the truth, was furious he’d been duped, and sabotaged the casting. Didn’t hurt he got himself a piece of tail as a consolation prize.”
Ketha opened her mouth, but Raziel held up a hand. “I’m not finished. I’m also familiar with the prophecy that includes Shifters, Vampires, and Archangels. It’s the fourth unfinished prophecy.” His nostrils flared. “Raphael—my kinsman, not the Vampire—has a role to play, which means that particular divination isn’t about to happen. If I can’t get out, he can’t get in.”
Ketha dropped her hands to her sides. “If we know Raphael—the Vampire, Raphael—is a threat, we can watch out for him. Beyond that, aren’t all prophecies metaphor? Maybe it didn’t mean another Archangel had to be here at all.” Her words sounded thin, pathetic, like she was grasping at straws, which she was. They wouldn’t have any magic to spare—to quash Raphael or anyone else who interrupted them mid-spell.
She glanced at Viktor. He drew his brows together. “We need to get back to the others, with or without him.” He jerked a thumb in Raziel’s direction.
Ketha agreed. Every instinct she had said time was running out. She had one last argument in her arsenal and threw down the gauntlet. “If I’m right, and you were banished here at the ass end of South America, you could redeem yourself by helping us.”
Raziel hooted laughter. He bent double, slapping his knees before straightening. “That’s rich. You think God will extend an olive branch for saving abominations?”
Ketha drew herself tall and pushed her fury aside. Pounding the sanctimonious bastard in front of her to a pulp would be wonderful. She could almost feel bones crunching beneath her fists, but she was bigger than revenge. “Older deities than the one you report to revered Shifters.” She kept her tone even and didn’t mention that no one respected Vampires.
“Expand your horizons,” she suggested silkily. “Regardless of what happens to Vampires—and I hope their power disappears along with the Cataclysm—you will have played a key role in saving Earth and restoring nature.”
Ketha had said enough. Sometimes knowing when to shut up was as important as the words that came before. She hooked an arm through Viktor’s, waiting.
Raziel looked from one of them to the other and curled a corner of his mouth derisively. “Raphael’s blood must’ve been weak when he made you,” he told Viktor. “No self-respecting Vamp would ever trust a Shifter. Never mind holding one in any kind of regard.”
“Stop right there.” Viktor’s tone was even, deadly. “Leave Ketha out of your judgments about me.”
“His spirit fought being turned.” She jumped in, defending Viktor. “Your words are a diversion. What’ll it be, Archangel? Choose now.” She infused compulsion into her words.
Light flashed, blinding her. She shut her eyes, shielding them with an upraised hand. When she opened them, Raziel was gone.
“Goddamn it!” She punched a fist into her other hand.
“I wonder what other unexpected things live here.” Viktor drew his forehead into a mass of thoughtful creases. “Is it true that the Cataclysm impacted your ability to shift?”
Frustration filled her—hot, viscous, uncomfortable—at the reminder her other half was almost lost to her. “Yes. It’s far harder than it once was because it blows through buckets of magic when none of us have had any to spare. Sorry.” She blew out a breath. “I’m discouraged—and furious with that bastard. There are good reasons Shifters have steered clear of organized religions.”
Viktor snorted. “Beyond them hanging and burning you right along with Witches and Druids?”
“Yeah, that too.” She raked her hands through her hair. “He never did disclose why he ended up here.”
“No. He didn’t, which probably means your theory hit close to the mark. Why is it harder to shift?”
“Lots of reasons. Scant food combined with poisoned air and water have impacted our magic. Shifting under normal conditions uses a lot of magic, but shifting now requires ten times the amount. We’ve conserved our power for more essential things. Problem is when you remain in one form for a long time, the other one fades and becomes harder to access, requiring still more magic.”
“This is fascinating. Say more about it.” He wrapped his arms around her. “You must be cold. It’s well below freezing tonight.”
“I will be once I’m not so angry.” She leaned into him, craving his solid presence. “Not much more to say. The animals have a place they exist when they’re not with us.”
“Where is that?” he cut in.
Ketha chewed her lower lip and hunted for a quick explanation of a complex topic. “Kind of like a parallel universe. I’ve seen it in dreams, but we can’t live there, only the animals can do that. Sometimes I feel my wolf within me, but more and more it’s absent, and I know it’s running free in its special world. I’m happy for it then because it gets a break from the hell our lives have turned into.”
“Why an ‘it,’ and not a him or her?”
“The animals are genderless. Don’t ask why or how. That’s how it’s always been.”
Viktor drew back so he could look at her. “Thanks for the primer on being a Shifter, even if it made me sad for you—and your wolf.”
“No point in being sad. Besides, my wolf would spit on pity from any quarter.” They had to get moving, and she considered their options. “Let’s return to the mesa.”
“Don’t you want to take another shot at Raziel?”
Ketha grimaced. “Yeah. I’d love to pound that slime-wad into bloody bits, but there’s nothing more to say. I did my best, and it wasn’t good enough. Not much point wasting time tracking him for a rematch. Can you think of any other Vamps who might be willing to join us?”
“I’ve been tossing that around. Come on. Let’s get out of the wind and map out Plan B. What’s your preference? Tunnels or the cypress grove?”
“Which place are we least likely to run into Vampires?”
“It’s a toss-up. I never found other Vamps in the tunnels until Raphael sicced them on you.”
“Let’s try the grove. Cypress trees are ancient, and Shifters draw power from the natural world.” She fell into step next to him and didn’t duck from beneath his arm when he draped it around her shoulders. Raziel’s refusal made her uncomfortable, shook her faith in the integrity of what she’d seen in her glass.
“I feel your mind churning.” Viktor led her beneath a canopy of gnarled branches. The ground within the ring of living wood was dry and sandy. Wind howled around the tight circle, but very little leached through. He hunkered in the lee of an enormous trunk and drew her down next to him.
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” she mumbled.
“What isn’t? Raziel? Finding Vamps who might not knife us in the back?”
Ketha scrubbed the heels of her hands down her face. “Any of it.” She took a deep breath, hoping for a calm, rational outlook, but it eluded her. “I’ve never had a vision where one of the key elements told me to go fuck myself. I
’m not sure what it means. Or how to proceed.”
Viktor folded one of her hands between his, and she laced her fingers into his solid grip. “People in your visions have played changing roles,” he reminded her. “Raphael acted quite differently in three separate trances.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “That’s true, but there’s not a doubt in my mind he’ll show up for the finale. Raziel refused a direct request for assistance.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “He knew about my vision. He also knew about the prophecy, even though he said it didn’t apply here—and he still refused.”
“Are you interpreting that as a bad omen?”
Viktor’s ability to think clearly and articulate her fears warmed her, filling her with gratitude for his unflappable presence. “I guess so.”
He tightened his hands around hers. “Sailors are nothing if not superstitious. Something as simple as a wandering albatross in the wrong place turns into a portent of doom.”
She glanced at him. “What did you do when things like that happened on your ships?”
He rolled his eyes. “Made damn sure the crew didn’t upset the passengers. Wasn’t hard. Most of the world’s elite wouldn’t recognize a superstition if the Grim Reaper showed up with robes and a sickle to escort them to Hell.”
Ketha chuckled, grateful for a respite from thoughts that tumbled in weary circles. “I suppose the question is whether we move forward. I was encouraged by how I saw the mesa, and then you knew where it was.”
“And we all ended up there without too much effort,” Viktor reminded her. “What do you want to do about adding other Vampires to the group?”
“Wish I had an answer.”
“What do your instincts tell you?” he pressed.
She pressed her lips together. “To leave well enough alone. Unless maybe you know a few Vamps who are sure bets.”
“The only sure bet for Vampires is their attraction to blood and death.” He hurried on before she could say anything. “I knew Juan before the Cataclysm, and we got lucky with Recco and Daide. Maybe. They’re saying the right things, but I don’t know them well enough to trust them. Sure, I could approach some others—like the women, who’ve kept a very low profile. Maybe a few would surprise me and agree. But you didn’t see any female Vamps in your vision.”
“What aren’t you saying?” Ketha shifted position to look at him, not letting go of his hand.
“One of the big problems for Vampires is the strength of”—he frowned, maybe hunting for words—“competing priorities. We can begin with the best of intentions, but if bloodlust gains the upper hand, it will win every time. You and the other Shifters will be vulnerable while you’re immersed in the magic to defeat the Cataclysm...” His words faded.
“Mmph,” she mumbled. “Plan B looks a whole lot like Plan A. While you were talking, I was thinking.”
“What’d you come up with?”
“I’m certain Jorge will make an appearance, probably at the least auspicious moment. It’s possible the casting will exert a pull over Raziel too, and he’ll end up in the thick of things. Normally, I’d like a strategy with fewer maybes peppering it, but that’s not going to happen.”
The fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled uncomfortably. She placed a hand over his mouth and breathed, “Ssht,” into his mind. Vamps were on the move. A whole horde of them from the feel of things. What the fuck were they doing all the way out here?
Viktor scrambled to his feet. “Stay here. I’ll take care of this.”
“Hold up.” She stood too. “You reek of Shifter. Let me fix it.”
Ketha sprinkled power in an arc around him, instructing it to eradicate any trace of her or her sisters. Once that was done, she said, “Go,” and swathed herself in invisibility. It might not have fooled Raziel, but these were Vampires, not Archangels. She’d be safe enough.
She hoped.
“Viktor!” A voice boomed. “What are you doing north of the city? Find anything warm-blooded to share?”
“You wish. I could ask you the same thing.”
“We’re hunting,” another voice called out with a cheerful note that set Ketha’s teeth on edge.
“Humans,” someone clarified.
Ketha cringed. Had Shifter magic protecting the enclaves failed? With all of them on the mesa, that was certainly possible. It felt like a different world up there, and perhaps it obliterated the protections they’d placed to keep humans safe from harm.
“Find any?” Viktor’s tone was jovial, conversational.
“Not yet,” the first voice boomed. “But we’re hot on their tracks.”
“Sounds promising,” Viktor replied. “Mind if I join you?”
“I’d suspect something was wrong if you hadn’t asked.” First voice again. “Be a shame to kill you, but I’ll rule this shithole better than Raph. He was a pansy. Far too trusting. My motto is kill first, ask questions later.”
“Good to know.” Viktor sounded amused. “Let’s get cracking. Dawn’s not far off.”
The sound of booted feet moving away shook the earth beneath her. Christ! How many were there? Must be half the Vamps in Ciudad de Huesos. Ketha snaked a shielded beam of power outward, gathering information. She counted forty-seven. Mostly post-Cataclysm Vamps, but a few old ones too. The energy from one was cloudy, dual-natured. Must be Jorge, who’d killed Raphael and then fallen from grace and drunk from him. Ketha memorized the feel of him, so she’d recognize it if he stormed the mesa.
It’s not if, but when, she reminded herself grimly.
She thought about how Viktor described bloodlust. He hadn’t said in so many words that it had been his undoing when Raphael turned him, but it had most certainly driven Jorge to feed from his erstwhile master.
She waited through several minutes until it was as safe as it was going to get to leave the grove. Should she follow the band of Vampires? No one suspected Viktor of treason—yet, but that could change fast. Ketha sent a quick prayer asking Gaia to watch over him and took off after the retreating Vampires.
They weren’t certain of the location of any of the groups of humans, or the Vamps would have been feasting rather than running through the countryside. Hot on their tracks hadn’t been much more than idle boasting. She took stock of where she was and altered her course until she was close to the nearest enclave. A quick infusion of power ensured the folk living there would remain invisible to Vampires.
Her magical well was running low. Wisdom dictated she make a run for the mesa where she could rest and eat, but she didn’t want to abandon Viktor. A hasty scan confirmed Vamps weren’t anywhere near. It also confirmed they had no idea where the humans were, and she breathed a little easier.
Because it didn’t feel like too big a risk, she used her mind voice. “Viktor?”
Minutes dribbled past, turning into a quarter hour. Her fears for him escalated. Hadn’t Jorge said murder was the new normal in Vampire-land? She backtracked, intent on finding the unmistakable trail the Vamps had left. She’d be worthless if she ran her power down to bedrock again, so she did what she could to conserve it.
“Mesa. Now,” flared in her mind and she skidded to a stop.
“Viktor?”
“Who else?”
“Where were you earlier? I tried to reach you.”
He didn’t answer. Did he mean he was back at the mesa and she should join him? Or was he chivvying her back there to keep her safe?
The wind escalated; its howling mirrored desolation scouring her heart. She altered course again and plodded toward the other edge of Ushuaia, staying well hidden in bone-choked backstreets. She’d been a fool to think she could waltz into a den of Vampires and do anything other than get herself killed.
Maybe Viktor would be waiting for her on the mountain track, but every instinct she had screamed he was in deep trouble. And there wasn’t a damned thing she could do to intervene.
I’m overreacting.
Am I?
Ketha put a lid on her
mental dialogue. It wasn’t helping, and she needed all her concentration to make it back to the mesa. If Viktor was in trouble, the others waiting for her in the caves were his best bet for help.
Chapter Seventeen: Sucker for Lost Causes
Shock roiled through Viktor when he emerged from the tangle of cypress limbs and laid eyes on Jorge. The man’s blue-gray eyes gleamed with a fey light, and his long, dark hair was matted with what had to be blood. Apparently, he hadn’t bothered to rinse himself off after his feeding frenzy over Raphael’s headless corpse. Or his battering match with the dead human he’d tried to turn. The stench of rancid blood twisted Viktor’s stomach into a hard, painful knot. Fresh blood was one thing, but the rust-colored streaks clinging to Jorge in thick, clotted patches gave off a nauseating odor.
Jokes flew fast and furious about finding humans and fresh blood. Viktor forced teasing remarks right back, his mind recoiling with disgust.
Finally, Jorge took off at a shambling trot with forty-plus Vampires fanned out behind him. Viktor fell in and scanned the group. Who could he trust to talk with? Something was desperately wrong. Vampires might be monsters, but they were scarcely pigs to roll in their own shit. And Jorge was moving at about a tenth of normal Vampire speed.
Was some kind of internal battle going on, where Raphael was duking it out for control and Jorge fighting back? That would certainly drain Jorge’s energy.
Someone closed from his side. Viktor tilted his head and saw Glenn. The Vamp sent a pointed look skittering Viktor’s way out of his clear, green eyes and made the smallest of motions with one hand.
Viktor understood. He dropped back a few feet, still moving forward but not at the same speed as the rest of the pack. Glenn paced him, mouth very close to his ear. “You should’ve stayed back in those trees, dude. No love lost between me and Raph, but Jorge’s got some major screws loose.”